


Young God

by thorkiship18



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Sam Winchester, Road Trips, Running Away, Sam Winchester is So Done, Sibling Incest, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorkiship18/pseuds/thorkiship18
Summary: Sam Winchester and his older brother hit the road, running from their dark past.





	Young God

**Author's Note:**

> Uuuuugh. Hi! Lol this is partly inspired by this dumb, weird movie called The Strange Ones, and a song by Halsey called Young God. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Mistakes are my own.)

Sam ignores Dean when he touches his thigh, squeezing once.

He didn't forget what the asshole said to him twenty miles ago, and he's not gonna. It was a pretty dick move from a pretty dick. Dean kills the engine in the convince store parking lot, glancing over at his growing weed of a brother. The boy doesn't look at him; he doesn't even acknowledge him. Dean feels only mildly insulted. They haven't spoken for a while.

"Not talking to me now?" When the youngest of the two doesn't respond, Dean tries again, angrier. "If you don't say something, I'm gonna get pissed."

Sam scoffs. "I think we've both said enough."

"Just don't think me a monster when--"

"Oh, you've made it very clear who the monster really is, Dean..."

The words were designed specifically to wound Dean, to burn him, to remind him just how pissed off Sam is. He always could hold a grudge. Dean stares at him, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. Without another word, Dean pulls his keys from the ignition. He exits his prized car in a hurry, slamming the cat door closed before storming off into the store.

Sam stays in his seat. It was Dean's silent command. He doesn't follow him. It's hot out here. Very. It's the middle of the summer, and the sun is high in the sky. They're in Arizona now, far away from the home they grew up in. There's literally nothing for them back there, all thanks to Sam. The fire...he still hasn't quite gotten over it.

The bright, orange flames rising to the ceiling. The heat licking at his exposed flesh, the smell of--

"Dammit!"

The teen shouts, slamming his hands on the dashboard. It's all his fault, all his fucking fault. He bites his nails, tapping his foot down on the floor in anticipation. His heart is hammering in his ribcage, and his eyes dart from the cigarette lighter receptacle to the glove box. Now, he's no fucking medical expert, but Sam believes he may be having one of those mild panic attacks.

Against his better judgement, Sam opens the door to the passenger side, and gets out. He shuts it, leaning against the hot hunk of metal. He takes several deep breaths, trying to reassure himself of his surroundings. He's not in house anymore, he's not alone (really), and he's safe. Sam repeats those words in his mind, holding onto them tightly as if they were magical threads of rope.

After some time, Sam calms down. His breathing slowly returns to normal, and the tiny headache forming in his brain disappears. Sam looks to the store, scratching his arm. He has a few bucks he pinched from a guy not too long ago. Maybe he can get a snack or something? Yeah, he's kinda thirsty too. Ignoring his older brother once again, Sam walks into the store, head ducked down.

The bell chimes above him, signaling the store that there is a new costumer. Sam immediately looks around the shop, not finding Dean. There's a place in near the side, however. Restrooms. Maybe he went to take a piss, and wash his face or something. Who knows? Sam veers off to the back aisle, looking through the beverages. He's only got five bucks, so he better make this all count. No expensive drinks.

Water.

Sodas.

Fancy smoothies.

All very tempting, but in the end, Sam decides to get a simple bottle of water. He opens the door to get it, hand curling around the chilly object. When he turns around to look for snacks, Sam bumps into someone. He stumbles back, annoyed. Sam looks up at the stranger only to meet a pair of luscious, brown eyes and a wicked grin. Sam stares at the man, taking in his short, black hair.

"Hey, kid," the stranger says. "You planning on paying for that?"

It clicks in Sam's head that this man is the clerk of the store. Without a single thought, he brushes by him, going for the snacks. "Do I look like a thief?"

"You look like many things, sweetheart, but a thief ain't one of them."

"I'm sure."

Sam pointedly ignores the clerk's advances, unimpressed. Still, the man pursues him. It may be his grave mistake. "Where are you from?"

"Not from here."

"Figured." The clerk laughs. "I would've seen you around before. No one could forget a pretty face like that."

Sam snags a few gummy worms and a pie for Dean (when did he stop being angry with him?) and stares at the man. "Listen, do yourself a favor: Stop. I'm not interested, just passing through."

It doesn't faze the clerk. Of course not.

"Doesn't mean we can't have fun, right? Live in the moment, and all that stuff. There's a couch in the office."

"You're a fucking sleaze."

The clerk frowns. "What, you're dressed like that, and you expect someone like me to not say something? Tease. You with the guy in the restroom?"

"Yes, I am," Sam hisses through his clenched teeth. "So stop. Last warning."

As if on cue, the bathroom door opens up, and out steps Dean. His face--well, if looks could kill, the clerk would be on the ground right now, vaporized into absolutely nothing. Dean walks over to Sam, standing behind him. In a twisted show of public affection, Dean embraces him, sticking his right hand down the front of Sam's shorts, underneath of his underwear. He _squeezes,_  and Sam shudders at the skin on skin contact. Dean smirks in his neck, eyeballing the stranger.

"Is there a problem?" He asks.

The clerk gapes, mouth opening and closing as Dean fondles his baby brother in front of him. "N--No. No problem at all. Are you ready to pay?"

"That would be excellent. Thank you."

****

There's nothing more to do other than look out of the window as the car passes through the desert. Sam's head is leaned up on the glass. The car's a/c is blasting on high, and Dean seems particularly cheery for a guy that just shot and killed a convenience store clerk. The man wasn't a fucking saint or anything, but he didn't deserve to die. Not that Sam actually cares or anything.

"You didn't have to kill him..." Sam whispers out, arms crossed.

Beside him, Dean grins. "He speaks. Finally. Had to kill a bastard to get your ass to talk to me again."

"Fuck you. Never mind."

"Fuck me, huh? Nah, fuck _you._ " Dean punctuates the last word with a playful slap to the back of Sam's head.

Sam, however, doesn't not take too kindly to that, and hits Dean back on his face, harder. The older brother's smile quickly drops, and as he holds the steering wheel with his left hand, he slaps Sam quickly with the right. What starts out as a familial joke soon turns into an all out brawl in the car.

Dean hits Sam, Sam hits Dean, the car swerves on the road, repeat.

Perhaps Sam should be more nicer to his technical savior, his provider, his lover, but he's not in the mood. Not right now. Eventually, with a bruised cheek, Sam settles back in his seat, arms folded together. Dean grumbles something incoherent under his breath, whiping the blood out of the cut on his forehead from where Sam scratched him.

It wasn't always like this between them. Dean was more gentle, and Sam wasn't the little shit that he is. They were thick as thieves, always together, never apart. Sam would sneak into Dean's bed as kids to escape his nightmares, and Dean would allow it, vowing to protect Sammy from the monsters.

If he only knew...

They stopped an hour later at a lonely motel. Dean parked in the lot, surprised that no one else was there. No one in the pool either. Nonetheless, he snatches the keys, leaving his car the same time as Sam. They've been driving for a very long time, going nowhere in particular. Just getting away. Not like they have a choice. Sam stretches, raising his arms high in the air, standing on the tips of his toes.

Dean flicks his eyes down at Sam's middle, biting the inside of his cheek. His stomach is exposed, soft, flat, calling out to him. It's been some time since Sam let him touch, and it's getting harder and harder to suppress the urge. Dean _needs_  this; Sam. He's a goddamn drug to him. Just like a fucking drug. One hit isn't enough. He needs more. He craves it. Sadly, Sam doesn't seem particularly willing to give it up right now. He brings Dean back to reality, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

"We don't have enough money for a room." He says.

Dean grunts, walking past him towards the entrance. "I'll figure something out."

The teen only hopes that doesn't mean more people have to die. They don't have many clothes now, but they have some stored in their single duffle bag along with a few toiletries. Sam grabs it from the backseat with the bag of treats he hot from the store. He shuts the door, and follows Dean inside,  taking note of the cozy lobby.

There are some waiting chairs here, but Sam doesn't sit down. He shoulders the duffle bag, shifting from foot to foot. His tattered sneakers squeak mercilessly under him. Dean approaches the front desk, ringing the bell twice. The two brothers wait a moment in silence; Dean points at a picture on the wall, an old man and woman surrounded by children. He makes a stupid remark about them being one big happy family.

Sam says nothing.

Soon, someone enters the lobby from an office behind the desk. A beautiful blonde woman with big, blue eyes and pink lips. Right away, she blushes at Dean, and completely bypasses Sam, infuriating the teen. She has the nerve to have her shirt be two sizes too small with no bra. Sam becomes jealous the longer Dean smiles at her. Soon, they begin flirting. Right in front of him no less. He tunes out most of it, looking around. It doesn't stop him from seeing her pull Dean off to the side to whisper something in private.

Now all Sam can think about is Dean sneaking off to fuck her into next year, leaving him in the dust. He promised it was just them, and only them, no one else. Perhaps promises were meant to be broken after all. And as Sam retreats from the private conversation, he accidentally ventures off into the dark recesses of his mind.

Images flash; the fires, the smoke, the heat. Sam recalls choking on the thick smoke, and Dean's strong arms pulling him out of the burning house. Sam hyperventilates, hugging himself and rocking slowly. Just when the memories intensify, Dean comes to his rescue. Again.

"Stop--!" Sam gasps, coming back to reality. His eyes are wide, and he's looking around the room.

Dean places his warm hands on his face, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Hey! Look at me. Stop it, okay? You're fine. It's me, Sammy."

"Dean..."

"Yeah, it's me. Come on, man."

Sam looks behind, seeing the blonde woman looking at them. She's uncomfortable, scared even. Sam cares little for her anyways. It doesn't matter what she thinks. She tells them to follow her, and Sam allows Dean to guide them towards their room. The boy looks to his left, spotting the picture from before.

It's cracked.

****

Sam sits on the edge of the bed, bare feet digging into the strange smelling, shaggy carpet. He flips through the same twelve channels on the shitty motel television for the fourth time. Sam finally settles on channel five. The Haunting of Hill House is on right now. It's one of his favorites. Dean's too. They're both fond of old, cheesy black and white horror films. It's a classic among many.

The boy turns his head to the bathroom door when he notices Dean come out in a new shirt, smelling...different. He has on cologne, the cheap shit too. Sam grips the sheets at his sides, growing from annoyed to irritated. Before he can ask, Dean is out the door, throwing a quick "I'll be back" over his muscular shoulders. The door shuts closed, and Sam is left alone.

In all sixteen years of his life, Sam never imagined that this was how things would eventually turn up. Virtually poor, and on the road with his perverted older brother that wants to fuck him at a moment's notice. In a weird way, Sam doesn't have a problem with it. As long as he's with Dean. That's all that matters.

Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes pass into hours with Sam still in the same spot. He takes a look at the clock on the wall. Well, it's been two hours. Surely, Dean's out with that girl doing God knows what. The thought sickens Sam. He could kill her if he wanted to, if he truly desired only because she moved in on Dean the way she did. He's intimidated by her, obviously.

_What does she have that I don't?_

Dark thoughts invade him.

_Does she think she's better than me?_

He can't exactly control them.

_Dean doesn't care about her. I could kill her, and he'd still choose me._

It's the last thought that sends Sam over the metaphorical edge. He growls, getting up from the bed. The boy storms out of the bed, padding barefoot outside towards the side of the motel until he encounters the pool. He opens the gate, angrily coming up to the water.

Sam takes off his shirt, tossing it to the side. On a whim (and because it's a hot night), he unbuttons his shorts, letting them drop. He also wiggles out of his underwear. His garments pool around his ankles, and he steps out of them slowly. Fully naked, Sam takes a step back, adrenaline racing. In a small sprint, he runs forward, jumping into the pool.

The cool water engulfs him whole, swallowing him up. Sam lets himself sink for a minute, eyes open wide. He takes in the peace and quiet, and relaxes...until his body starts demanding air from him. Sam swims upwards, finally breathing. It's been a long time since he's been in a pool really, but it's all muscle memory now. He floats on his back, watching the night stars twinkle in the sky.

He reaches up his hand as if to pluck a star from the cosmos. Sam's sure that, if he really wanted it, he could.

He spends almost a full hour in the pool, only getting out once he hears Dean calling his name. Just before that, he accidentally hit the wall due to drifting too far. Sam doesn't bother putting on his clothes again. He just picks them up, walking stark naked back to the motel room. When he gets inside, he finds Dean sitting in his spot, knee bouncing up and down.

Dean glances at him, confused, worried, and aroused all in one. His shirt is a bit askew, and his hair as well. Angry, Sam once again passes by him, going straight for the towel in the duffle bag on the bed. Dean snags his arm, but Sam snatches it back in defiance.

"Where the Hell were you?"

Sam, dripping wet, laughs dryly. "Where do you think?"

"Answer my question."

"I was in the pool. I decided to take a dip."

Dean smiles. "Without me?"

Sam knows what this is...and he isn't fooled. This is Dean trying to defuse the situation by making jokes and taking it all very lightly. It's not gonna fucking work! Not this time. Sam huffs, hurriedly shucking on his shirt, but Dean stops him again as he tries to reach for his clean underwear. The elder Winchester brother tosses the duffle bag across the room.

"What's your fucking problem, Dean!?" Sam shouts, storming off to get the bag. "Jesus Christ..."

Dean has the nerve to be offended. Him, of all people. What a joke. "My problem? If I say I'll be right back, I will, and I expect you to stay put."

Sam puts on his boxer briefs quickly. "I don't always have to listen to you, okay? I'm my own person." The teen laughs to himself then, but he's anything but amused. "How was your date, Dean?"

Dean knits his brows together, stunned. "What?"

"You've been out for hours. Did you..." Sam stops for a second, biting his tongue. He doesn't continue until he's sure he has centered himself. Can't have another incident. "Did you fuck her?"

"No," comes Dean's quick answer. "We just talked."

"For hours. With your hair fucked up. Oh, and your shirt too."

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckling. He closes his eyes. "Sammy, you just don't get it. You don't know what you're talking about. I don't what you're thinking, I don't know _how_  your brain works, but you better stop, okay? Just--just stop."

"Or what? You're afraid of what I might do? Scared of the monster?"

"Sam, stop."

"You called me a one earlier, you didn't seem to have much of a problem then!"

The room rattles.

"Sam, enough!"

"You want a monster? I'll give you one."

Sam sneers at his brother as the motel rooms walls vibrate, and crack in several places. This is bad--really bad--but Sam can't seem to care. He's angry, he's upset, he's fucking frustrated beyond all logical belief. Dean is sitting there in front of him, lying. It hurts. It hurts so bad, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't want to.

The television fizzles out, breaking to pieces all by itself. Small cracks form in the glass of the windows, and Sam fights the urge to do more. This is all his doing. It's obviously not the first time something like this has happened, and they're both sure that it's not going to be the last.

Dean, despite the fearful look on his face, closes the distance between them. He seizes Sam's wrists, staring into his fox-like eyes. The boy looks up at him, startled. The hurt he can sense, the pain, the overwhelming love. Sam can't take it anymore. He stops the destruction around them finally, not looking to see how much damage he's done.

It was so much worse a week ago.

The fire.

John's death.

All Sam.

He collapses into his brother's loving arms, sobbing deeply. His chest hurts, and his headache returns tenfold. "Just get it over with. Just kill me. Shoot me. Bury me on the side of the road before I kill you too..."

"No!" Dean growls, holding him tight. "I'll never do that to you, even if you hurt me. You're my everything. I have to protect you. It's just you and me now, okay? Just us."

Sam finally looks up at him, teary eyed. "Just us?"

"Always. I promise."

Sam lets Dean kiss him then. It's passionate, and hungry. Dean's been starving for a while now. So has Sam. Dean picks him up, and Sam instinctively wraps his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. Dean leads them on the bed, still making out wildly. Sam's fingers thread in and out of his older brother's hair, grabbing, scratching at his scalp.

He moans lewdly into Dean's mouth when he lines up their cocks together. Sam grinds upward, desperate to find some kind friction to work with. Dean pins his hands above his head, breaking off the kiss to gaze down at him. Dean's bright green eyes have darkened, full of lust. His lips are parted and a little swollen. He's a damn mess, and Sam suspects he might look even worse underneath him.

"I didn't fuck her," Dean confesses suddenly. "I never touched her. I went to talk, that's all. Just charm her into letting us stay for free. She tried to get me to stay, but I had to fight her off. You know how much chicks dig me."

Sam reluctantly smiles at Dean's words. Of course he would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. Sam knows that he's his everything. He wouldn't willfully jeopardize that.

Dean touches him again, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. "You're not a monster. I'm so sorry, Sammy. I love you. Do you forgive me?"

_Why is that even a question?_

"I forgive you..." Sam whispers just before Dean captures his mouth in another kiss.

Sam feels everything that Dean gives him. The want, the need. He revels in it; the good outweighing the bad from several nights ago.

John's hands on his skin, mumbling drunkenly in his stupor. "Pretty boy, pretty boy," he would say, the smell of whiskey on his breath. He'd force his disgusting tongue down his throat, and fondle him through his sleepwear. Dean was oblivious to the sexual abuse. Of course he was. If he had known, he would've murdered their father on the spot.

And Sam was much too frightened by John's advances to do anything to stop him. The young teen allowed his father access to his body, sobbing and deeply scrubbing the mess out of him when the deed was done. The traumatic act didn't awaken his abilities for they were always there, weaker, lingering around for years. Sam knows not of what he is, but he--along with Dean--know that he isn't 100% human.

His body heats up as Dean licks and bites the tender flesh of his neck like the house he set ablaze. The memory will haunt him for the rest of his days, and he is prepared for that. Sam's mind wanders to that night, how he looked upon his father's sleeping form. John laid there in his bed, ignorant of the inhuman abilities that were residing in his son's fragile body.

And then, without a word, Sam immolated him. The fire was instantaneous, and spread throughout the house quickly. Sam was scared, calling out to Dean. Like a saint descending from the heavens, he grabbed Sammy tight, and saved him from the crumbling furnace that was once. They've been on the run ever since, evading questioning officers and big cities

That is their story, that's their big truth.

And as Dean buries his rock hard cock into his tight heat, Sam realizes that this man--the lovely, caring man above him--would rather die than be without him. He's felt Dean's constant presence throughout their childhood, encouraging him to show off his "tricks" when no one was around to see them.

Dean knew.

Dean always knew.

****

In the morning, Sam woke to find Dean sitting on the floor in front of the bed, naked and back to him smoking a cigarette. He only smiles if there's something bugging him. Sam knows better than to ask, but he crawls down to the end, resting his chin on the top of his brother's head. The boy's heart swells when he hears Dean's soft chuckles.

"Good Morning." Dean rasps, blowing out smoke.

Sam inhales the scent of Dean's hair, smiling softly. "Morning. Cigarettes for breakfast?"

"Pretty strapped for cash. Any suggestions?"

"Several." Sam muses, snatching the cigarette from his brother. He takes a long drag, dumping out the ashes on the carpet. "But you might not like it..."

"If it involves you using your tricks, then no."

"Dean--"

"I said no."

It's final. Dean's words are always final. There's much more bass in his voice than what he probably intended, but Sam does not dwell. He will _not_  dwell. He instead huffs affirmatively, blowing out the excess smoke. The boy looks into the smoke intently, and the white particles shape, reforming themselves into grander pictures. Little white butterflies flutter about Dean, making him smile like all those years ago.

Dean's delighted face makes Sam giggle, and soon the butterflies break apart, evaporating in the air as if they were never here. He gives Dean the cigarette, kissing the top of his head lovingly.

"I love you, D."

"I love you too, Sammy. Ready to go?"

"I'll go wherever you lead me, Jerk."

Dean spins around, planting a firm kiss on his younger lover. He grins when he spots the boy's blossoming blush. "Bitch."

Half an hour later, Sam is in the lobby, waiting on Dean to finish using the bathroom. He glances up at the photo from last night. The crack is still there, dividing the family in a way. The woman who tends to this place is one of the children, possibly the daughter of the people who truly own this place. And, as if the devil himself heard Sam's thoughts, she enters the lobby, huge smile on her face.

Sam hates everything about her. From her freshly polished nails to her huge chest and cocky attitude. This would've been the type of girl chased after before, but not now. Not anymore. No, sir. Once she spots Sam, her grin softens, and she approaches him.

"Hey, cutie. Where's your brother?"

"Bathroom." Sam grounds out, glaring at her.

She hums. "I better say goodbye before I lose the opportunity."

"Actually," Sam stands, not caring anymore. "I'd rather you didn't."

The blonde frowns, hands on her hips. "Oh, really?"

"My brother is...different. He isn't looking for anything from you. It's best if you just stop trying. You look pathetic."

"Calm down, kid. You got a little mouth on you, you know? It's not cute."

"My brother isn't interested in girls anymore, so stop being so desperate. Move onto the next guy."

"Watch it, you little shit." She snarls, finger pointed in his face. Her attitude has changed dramatically. "Your parents haven't taught you any manners I guess. Your brother is a grown man, and he can do whatever he pleases. It's not my fault you're a jealous little boy that doesn't know his prick from a garden hose."

That's the last straw for Sam. Drops the bags, glaring heartedly at the blonde woman. The room temperature kicks up, and she behind to sweat profusely. The longer Sam stares at her, the worse it becomes. Her skin reddens; she begins to burn horrifically. Her screams attract Dean who forces Sam to stop by carting them both out of the motel.

It isn't until they're five miles away that Dean talks to Sam about it.

"You can't do that to people, Sammy..."

"She deserved it. She was fawning over you. Guess you didn't make it clear enough that you didn't want her."

Dean's smug grin comes back around. "Jealousy is a pretty shade on those cheeks, Samuel."

Sam flushes. "I'm not jealous. I just..."

"Don't like people talking to what's yours?"

"...yeah."

Dean reaches over, dragging Sam over to him until his head rests on his shoulder. "Don't worry, baby boy. I'll always be yours, and you'll always be mine. Us against the world."

"Us against the world..."

Sam closes his eyes as Dean turns on the radio, resting peacefully on his caregiver. The song is unfamiliar to the both of them, but it's soothing nonetheless. Eventually, Sam falls asleep again, lulled by the purr of engine and the beautiful vocals on the radio.

Dean keeps one hand on the wheel, and the other wrapped around his brother, keeping the kid glued to him. He would die protecting Sammy--his boy--from everyone. No one else is worthy to be in his presence. No one, maybe not even Dean. This power that's inside of Sam frightens Dean now, yet it doesn't deter him. While he's afraid of the power, he's not afraid of Sam.

His Young God...


End file.
